


we'll work, we'll think, we'll change, we'll try

by anxiouswerewolf



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Porn, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Gay Student Union, M/M, Multi, Natasha screws everything up, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, not a spoiler that's just what she does
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiouswerewolf/pseuds/anxiouswerewolf
Summary: The Gay Student Union at Petersburg University is a nationally-renowned institution, where membership is not exclusive but the politics are cutthroat. This year, President Marya Akhrosimova intends to calmly and skillfully lead the group through another successful year, but interpersonal issues begin to arise within the group, and everything is made more complicated by a new freshman named Natasha.





	1. let's burn these sheets down to the seams

**Author's Note:**

> Someday I will write a musical fic where the title and chapter titles are actually lyrics from the musical. Today is not that day.

There was a time, when they were younger, that Sonya’s cousin Natasha had made a valiant attempt at doing the laundry. She had irrevocably fucked it up and shrank both her and her cousin’s clothes, and Sonya spent the next three hours comforting her cousin, who had unceremoniously thrown herself face-down on the couch and started sobbing. Sonya made a point to keep all the shirts from that load of laundry; even if they couldn’t be worn anymore in public, she would find a use for them.

Now, so many years later, Sonya opened the bathroom door wearing nothing but one of these too-small t-shirts and a pair of panties with holes in them from overuse. She never wrapped her hair in a towel like so many other girls she knew, but vigorously rubbed and patted all her hair with the towel before letting it drop around her shoulders and letting her hair air-dry. The added moisture from this only contributed to the clinging factor of the shirt, her breasts in perfect outline through the material. She would have felt self-conscious if she were anywhere but home.

Mary, on the other hand, felt a creeping sensation up her spine as she watched her girlfriend make her way through the apartment and sit down across from Mary at the kitchen island.

“I assume we won’t be going to the opera tonight,” Mary said from behind her cup of tea. She was the only person Sonya knew at school who had proven immune to the charms of coffee.

“Sold out. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Sonya reached her hand out to squeeze Mary’s palm, and a flush ran through Mary’s body. If Sonya had blinked she would have missed it, but her heart warmed that even now she could give her girlfriend butterflies with a simple touch.

“I still don’t know if I like that look on you.” Mary set down the empty cup and placed it at the edge of the island, a reminder to wash it and put it away when she was finished speaking. “The holes are a bit uncouth, don’t you think?”

“Would you prefer it off of me?” Sonya attempted a “sexy” voice, but the smile behind it was too impish and full of excitement for Sonya to play the seductress. She did stand up and walk over to where Mary was. Mary rose up from her own seat and Sonya initiated the kiss, snaking her tongue between Mary’s lips as Mary wrapped her arms around Sonya’s waist. When Sonya’s hands drifted south and began to tug at the corners of Mary’s shirt, Mary pulled away and put her hand between Sonya’s collarbone and outlined chest.

“It’s Sunday.”

Sonya dropped her grip on the shirt and moved her arms so that they hung on Mary’s shoulders and barely touched behind her neck. “Is it worse if we actually have sex, or if you just spend all night thinking about it?” Mary’s face went pale and Sonya felt her girlfriend close off, so she leaned forward to kiss Mary on the forehead. “I’ll change. You can find a movie.”

***

Marya was starved. Helene could tell from her lover’s every movement, how she alternated between licking and sucking Helene’s clit and biting her inner thighs, all while pumping three fingers in and out of Helene in raucous rhythm. For her part, what was left of Helene’s coherent thoughts were focused on what to do with her hands, and she alternated between grabbing the bedposts for dear life and taking hold of Marya’s’ hair, trying to contain the bull it felt she was riding.

Marya and Helene had been together long enough that Marya knew Helene’s body like it was her own, knew that the rhythm of her quivering thighs and moans meant she was close, and she took the penultimate moment to twist her fingers around and rake her nails on Helene’s walls, scraping over her G-spot. Helene arched her back and _howled_ in pleasure.  Marya kept her fingers inside Helene, riding out the last of the contractions, while her mouth rode up and nibbled across Helene’s stomach, breasts, and neck before she rolled over and took her half of the bed, sucking Helene’s wetness off of her fingers.

“God,” Helene purred, “It’s been forever since I was ravaged like that.”

“I would hope so. Otherwise that means you were having a little too much fun while you were in Paris.”

“Nobody in Paris would know how to do it like you.” Helene leaned over to kiss her lover, and her hand crept south.

“That was just a warm-up. When your jet lag’s worn off I want to see how many times I can make you come in a night.”

Helene’s finger slipped between Marya’s lips, softly exploring the velvety insides. She thought she had forgotten, but it was as she had always remembered. “I would say we can play that game right now, but you should get some rest before the big day tomorrow, Madame President. Unless you mind going one more round…”

Marya smiled and guided Helene’s hand deeper inside. Helene growled deep in her throat before crawling down the length of the bed.

***

They had an agreement, Pierre and Andrei. It was, like most things involving them, a nonverbal agreement. Pierre would come to Andrei’s house. They would both undress. Andrei would mount Pierre as lions will do, a monotonous thrusting from behind, until they both came. Then they would fall asleep in the same bed, not touching and facing opposite sides. In the morning Pierre would leave and everything would go back to normal until the next occasion.

Andrei never moved in his sleep. For Pierre, who was so used to tossing and turning, discontent even in the deepest throes of sleep, this was comforting. The first few times he had slept over with Andrei Pierre had touched himself after his bedmate fell asleep. The first time it was slow and careful, only gentle strokes and an unsuccessful attempt at stopping before he came on Andrei’s bed. The second time he started slow and picked up the pace when he was confident that Andrei would not awake. The third time he returned to his usual routine, confident that nothing would change. After two more times of this, he grew bored with it and committed himself to falling asleep.

When Pierre stared at the ceiling, cock in hand and Andrei in bed next to him, he thought of nothing and no one, and this to him was pleasurable.

***

“You’re a little slut,” Dolokhov purred as he thrust himself further into Anatole, whose high-pitched mewling was music to Dolokhov’s ears. Fedya was using both of his arms to pin Anatole’s hands above his head and leave him helpless as Dolokhov forced himself ever further inside. “When you rut with girls you play the gentleman, but me?” Dolokhov jerked his hips forward in a shift from his usual rhythm, rejoicing in the squeal it provoked. “I’m the one in charge.”

That wasn’t entirely true. The way Anatole’s legs wrapped around Dolokhov’s body put him in control, like a master guiding a horse by the thighs. The horse deludes itself that it is in control, it is directing, while the rider maintains true power through suggestion.

Dolokhov’s whole body twitched as he came, his semen filling Anatole so completely that it leaked onto the bed beneath them. If Anatole could come again, he would have, but he was spent from handjobs and blowjobs earlier in the night, so he allowed Dolokhov to uncouple and lie down, spent.

“You went all out for me tonight. How sweet.”

“Between leaderly celebrations and a homecoming, I think your sister has her hands full with Marya tonight. I wouldn’t want you to be left out.”

“Are you going to the meeting tomorrow?”

“Well, I assume that you’ll go to support your sister and because it’s your last year here, and I’ll go to be the supportive boyfriend. And to remind the general public that Fedya Dolokhov is in the Gay Student Union because he is, despite his appearance as the red-blooded American male who pulls broads in all fifty states, a big old cock-gobbler at heart.”

Anatole leaned over to peck his boyfriend on the jawline, where it was still itchy with stubble. “Believe me, I know. You’ve spent the last few hours demonstrating that.”

“Excellent. Now let’s rest up so I can provide some more proof tomorrow.”


	2. we all sit at the curb and stare at the rain in our boots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bad shoulder is acting up and keeping me from sleeping, so here's a chapter. No smut in this one, sorry!

They all had their place at the table.

Marya was, of course, at the head, though slightly to the right. She continued the tradition of having two gavels on her table. The first one was in miniature and rested between the two flags in front of her, one a rainbow and one the flag of the university. The larger one she held between her hands, and since acquiring it back in April had rarely relinquished it. Whenever a task required her to think about the GSU she would pick up the gavel and twirl it between her hands, claiming that the weight helped her focus. She had tried to train herself over the summer not to point at people with the gavel, and the training was wholly unsuccessful. Today she was leading her trusted band of allies through their instructions for recruitment so that the club become the largest in the state, one of the goals her predecessor had never quite achieved.

Helene sat at Marya’s right, at the presidential end of the long side of the table. Back before her girlfriend became vice-president their junior year, Helene would always place herself next to Marya. When she became bored, as Helene was prone to do, she would take advantage of her position to creep up Marya’s skirts. Since Marya ascended to the board, however, she had told Helene not to disrupt her with such trivial things, so now Helene contented herself with playing with the tablecloth and watching the minutes tick by. She wanted to be proud of her girlfriend, finally in the position she had wanted, but she couldn’t bring herself to be interested in the petty politics of it all.

Sonya sat at Marya’s left, taking up her allotted third of the head of the table. She had her own gavel, closer to the size of the ceremonial one than Marya’s weapon of choice, but she didn’t mind. Sometimes Sonya wondered if she had been groomed by Marya into assuming the presidency next year after graduation, but Mary was always there to tell her otherwise. There was no one more deserving of leadership than Sonya, Mary would say, and Sonya would tell her that wasn’t true. Marya was the most deserving, but she wouldn’t be around forever.

Mary herself sat to Sonya’s left, directly across from Helene. She barely registered Helene’s presence, her fixation alternating between pride for Sonya and the words that Marya was speaking. Previous leaders had strictly adhered to parliamentary procedure and a discussion-based format, where Marya had always dominated the conversation. Even in her first official capacity as president, Sonya and Mary could tell that she would skew towards dictatorial leadership, and Sonya would touch Marya on the arm when she felt the president becoming too intense.

Anatole sat to the right of his sister, and although they never looked each other in the eye for as long as they sat side-by-side, the connection between them was strong enough to endure a lack of eye contact or any other physicality. It was always as if they were held by an invisible thread, wrist to wrist or throat to throat. Serendipitously, while Marya or Dolokhov would lie in bed with their chosen Kuragin, they would sometimes comment that it felt as if the other one was there, watching over them. To Marya, the idea of Anatole watching his sister engaged in primal acts of lust was revolting, and on more than on occasion she had to break their coupling because the image became too intense. For Dolokhov, having Helene present in some capacity was not only acceptable, but preferable.

Fyodor Dolokhov left the seat next to Mary empty and preferred instead to flank Anatole. It was not so much out of contempt for Mary; nobody had that anymore. When she had first begun and was riddled with so much fear at the idea of being anything besides a perfect heterosexual, she had been secretly reviled by the most flamboyant members of the Union as a pathetic figure who wanted to derail the conversation to get sympathy. Three years under Sonya’s patient care and they knew that had never been the truth and that Mary was, when it came down to it, a sympathetic character. No, Dolokhov took his position because he preferred to be in the shadows, far away from Marya’s intense gaze.

Truth be told, Marya terrified Dolokhov. She terrified everybody, save for Helene and Sonya, the former because of their intimate relationship and the latter because of their fierce friendship. Where Sonya knew that Marya would only scream and berate those who had in some way hurt Sonya, Helene lived for her girlfriend’s overpowering anger. Once upon a time, Pierre had been the final point of this triangle, although many suspected that it was his depression that enabled him to fear nothing, rather than a special kinship with Marya. Two years ago he would have occupied the seat opposite Anatole, on Mary’s left, but that was a different time.

Pierre’s seat now was on the front steps of a condemned house just off-campus, across from a frat house. They were setting up for a party later that night, and he wondered what he would have to do to be invited in. There was a time when he knew all of the brothers in any house worth attending, but they had all since graduated and left him behind. This new generation, he thought, was different. They weren’t the ones who would offer to walk Pierre home after imbibing too much, give him water and make sure he went safely to bed. They would kick him out for bringing down the mood. Although it had never happened, Pierre could picture it with such clarity he never dared to see if his premonitions rang true.

Andrei never attended parties. He was something of an enigma around campus. The first year, when he was required to stay in the dorms, he chose a single in the farthest building, and it was his easily, for no one else wanted it. He kept to himself, staying in his room save for when he needed to attend class. When he was allowed to move off-campus, he found an apartment for himself on the outskirts, just close enough that he could still walk. He did no extracurriculars, acknowledged nobody on the walk to and from class. Despite all of this, he always had some girl he could go to in the night. Today his chosen seat was a coffeeshop downtown, far from the hoi polloi of the student masses, preparing for his class on military history. Two girls in a booth were talking about him, and though he knew, he never acknowledged it.

Natasha had no place to sit, for the whole afternoon was dedicated to moving in. Her dorm was reserved for freshmen, and most of them were given the same time slot she was. She nearly lost her parents in the shuffle of lifting and settling everything. She was sent out to fetch a box of books from the trunk of the car while her parents worked on setting up the minifridge, and on her way out a poster stuck to the wall caught her eye, something about the Gay Student Union. She ripped a tab off of it and jammed it in her pocket before someone might see. The first meeting, it said, was the next week.


	3. does this mean you're moving on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't supposed to happen and then I got really carried away with what-ifs and ended up with background that was too good to leave out, so enjoy this angsty bit of relationship kerfluffle.

They had a routine, Sonya and Marya. After the other members of the GSU had all broken to attend their other activities for the day, they would wander off-campus, Marya would pay for overpriced coffee, and they would talk about their respective lives. It was a way for Sonya to ensure that Marya was at peace, as much as anyone like her could be, and a way for Marya to release that which pent up inside of her and threatened to explode at any time. Once a week at the least, Sonya defused the bomb that was Marya Akhrosimova, and she would have done it even without the praise bestowed upon her from the other members of Marya’s circle, who were content with the calming development.

They sat in the same booth every time, and although it would be uncouth to ask, both parties assumed that it was reserved for them now. At this time of day it was busy but not raucous, the background noise a moderate din that could mask their words to the outside and give them an air of privacy.

“When did Helene get back?” Sonya asked, only after an uncomfortable silence.

“Two nights ago.”

“I’m surprised you two weren’t all over each other.”

“I gave her some time to get unpacked. I am a lady, after all.”

“What about during the meeting?”

“She let me get in my zone. More than you did, I might add.”

“The way you were waving that gavel around, I thought you were trying to prepare for hammerthrow.”

Marya laughed into her cup when her phone buzzed with a text from Helene. Marya snatched it off the table before Sonya could read it, and when she was finished responding she set it face-down in the same spot.

“That was quick.”

“It was, uh, important.” Marya had very few tells, but Sonya had managed to pry them out of her, and the way that her nose twitched told Sonya that her friend had just set up plans for the night.

“You really missed her, didn’t you?”

“I was so happy for her that she got to do what she wanted, but…”

“I’m impressed you stayed the way you did.”

***

Early sophomore year, Marya and Helene had been on a break. It happened, with their tempers: they fought, it exploded, they broke up, and they came together in a blaze a few weeks later. Marya had noticed Sonya at the first GSU meeting that year. She had the kind of look that pinged a gaydar enough times to make someone suspicious from afar – the shaggy asymmetrical way she wore her hair, the dirty Vans she wore everywhere, the button-up shirts rolled up to the elbows and matched with suspenders, but being at the meeting, of course, sealed the deal.

Sonya, of course, noticed Marya right away. She filled the room with a fireball of charisma and dominated every room she entered. Anywhere else the eyes might have been on Sonya and her subdued skater charm, but this was Marya’s domain. Between the hair and the eyes and the red bomber jacket and Doc Martens she wore no matter the weather, Sonya couldn’t help but be intoxicated by the woman.

They found each other right away at the party the next week. Marya had been one of the bros, demolishing her friends at beer pong. Sonya had been carefully counting her drinks because she came alone and knew no one. She was caught in the conundrum between not wanting to be vulnerable and having nothing to do but drink. As soon as their eyes met, it was over.

Sonya had been out in high school. She never had a girlfriend. The farthest she had ever gone was making out with a stranger at a party senior year.

Marya had been a heartbreaker for as long as she could remember. No one’s boyfriend was brave enough to fight her. When she met Helene it was electric, but when the power went out she became hungry.

Marya had a single corner dorm that year. It was the largest of any of them, with the thickest walls.

Sonya was used to being the instigator. So was Marya. When they met, Sonya melted under the pressure.

They were each other’s drug, and like any addiction it only grew stronger and harder to break. Sonya learned how to touch another woman, honed her instinct into skill. Marya broke out of her comfort zone, made herself try new things. Handcuffs, strap-ons, everything that she had been afraid to ask Helene about, because Sonya said yes. Sonya would say yes to anything that Marya proposed.

Then Helene apologized, with a romantic dinner and new lingerie under her dress. Marya broke her new addiction to go back to the old one, and Sonya refused to admit she had gotten attached. She went out a few times, brought a girl home, and prayed they would stay longer than the night.

When another explosion happened and Marya had to evacuate, she found a shelter in Sonya, and every time, Sonya let her in. She knew it was all a mousetrap, but she would be damned if the cheese wasn’t the most appealing she had ever seen.

***

“It would be wrong to ask her not to find some cheap French thing while I was rutting with whoever I could get my hands on.”

“Out of anything you’ve said, I think that’s the closest you’ve come to admitting that you love her.”

“Actions speak louder.” Marya downed the rest of her coffee and repressed the urge to crush the cup like a beer can in the basement of a frat party. “I heard you and Mary moved in.”

“Yeah, it’s cheaper than living on-campus, and when she gets… in her head, I want to be there. I feel better being around, and she feels safer.”

“I didn’t think you had the patience. I sure wouldn’t.”

“She’s worth it.”

***

It took Mary a while to go to a GSU meeting. She was petrified that her every move was recorded by the school and sent back to her family, and even though her father didn’t have a computer she was sure that any picture of her taken at an event would come back to him. She would be out on her own, with no money for tuition or textbooks, and nowhere to go for Christmas.

She knew when they met, and she would be sure to walk by during the time when the meetings got out. There was a girl there with wavy red hair, Vans, and suspenders, and the top three buttons of her shirt were undone. After three months, Mary finally spoke to her.

Mary doesn’t remember what she said. She blacked it out because it was embarrassing, but she remembers how Sonya laughed and how her crooked smile hung there for a while. She remembers how they talked about nothing for hours because Sonya didn’t have anywhere to be and Mary was a good conversation partner. She remembers the two of them finding a terrible diner on the edge of campus because by the time they stopped talking long enough to realize they were both hungry everywhere good had closed.

Sonya remembers screaming at Marya earlier that day, when Helene had come back. She remembers wanting to cry at the GSU meeting but going anyway because Marya couldn’t take this space away from her. She remembered being so glad that someone wanted to talk to her, to distract her however briefly from the trials of her life.

Sonya remembers walking back to Mary’s dorm and noticing the shrine in the corner of her desk, and the necklace Mary wore, the crucifix touching her collarbone. Mary remembers Sonya telling her, after a few days, that Sonya was gay, and it would be better to get that out of the way now if it made Mary uncomfortable. Mary said she didn’t care.

Mary remembers the day before winter break, when she met Sonya in her dorm after exams, sat on Sonya’s bed, and started crying. She remembers that it took her seven minutes before she could say the word “lesbian”, and Sonya had clutched Mary to her chest, enveloped her in comfort. Mary’s head was tucked under Sonya’s chin, and Sonya started to cry herself, tears dropping into Mary’s hair as she said it would be all right, that they would work this out.

They remember kissing before Sonya had to leave to catch her flight home. Sonya remembers how different Mary was from Marya, how much gentler and more nervous. Mary remembers how soft Sonya’s lips were, how much like she had imagined. Mary remembers the pain in Sonya’s eyes when she offered to take Mary back, to pay for a plane ticket, but Mary refused. She had to see her father or he would take her out of school.

Marya remembers fighting with Sonya over break because Helene had run off with some boy back home and this time it was over, she promised, she was all Sonya’s now, but Sonya had moved on. Marya remembers the first meeting of the spring semester, when Sonya brought a friend along, one with a nervous demeanor and a necklace of the crucifix.

***

“It’s getting late,” Sonya said. “I already have a paper to write.”

“I told you you shouldn’t have majored in history,” Marya said, accompanied by one hollow laugh. They hugged when they stood up, as they always did, Sonya having to get up on her toes to even the height difference. They had done this a million times, but this time their hearts beat to a normal pace, neither galloping at the closeness. They had found their balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I have an announcement! My school has a competition every year for playwrights, where the winner gets $500 and a production of their work, which is great!
> 
> BUT
> 
> This means I'll be working on my entry and won't be able to update as regularly. The deadline is October 15, and I'll need to take some breaks from the play so I don't go crazy, but expect a little longer wait between now and then, and wish me luck!


	4. remember her face but forget the rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appendicitis scare means no class for me, which means here's a chapter to alleviate my boredom (don't worry, I'm okay, but they said i should take the day off)

There were few things that Dolokhov could say he loved. One was getting in fights, verbal or physical, a love that had gotten him in trouble more times than he could count. The other notable one, which had not gotten him in trouble yet but was bound to if he continued in this manner, was having sex with Anatole in the most public of places.

It wasn’t so much that he set out to bring his affairs into the open, it was more that once they were in each other’s orbit the two were pulled into a state of arousal so intense they could not focus until their lustful thoughts had been acted upon. Dolokhov had long suspected it was a Kuragin thing, due to the way Helene interacted with Marya, and with all the others that were not Marya. Dolokhov could not speak much for Hippolyte, who chose not to attend Petersburg University like his siblings, but from the one time he met Anatole’s father Vasili he could attest that there was some proof for a genetic factor in Anatole’s horniness.

At the moment, the two were in a bathroom stall in one of the dining halls. Lunch was still being served, but it was outside of the prime hours, and Dolokhov had made the crucial collegiate dick move of locking the entire bathroom for some privacy. He knew it would irritate anyone wanting to get in to wash their hands before a meal, but better that than have someone walk in on them.

Anatole was on his knees in front of Dolokhov, undoing the button and zipper of Fyodor’s jeans. Anatole preferred to do this part himself, loved to serve his lover in the basest of ways. French kings, it was said, never dressed or undressed themselves, for such tasks would be below them and had to be assigned to servants, and Anatole was willing to serve. Today Dolokhov was wearing a belt, an extra trinket for Anatole to fiddle with. He could have undone just the buckle, but instead he snaked it through the loops of Dolokhov’s jeans until it was off and on the floor next to the two of them; he didn’t know if Dolokhov would want to use it later.

Once Dolokhov’s pants had been removed, Anatole began to touch Dolokhov through his boxers, face twisting into an impish grin as Dolokhov suppressed his moans. Try as he might to hide it, Anatole knew all the things that made Fyodor tick. “How much time do we have?” Anatole asked, moving his gaze up Dolokhov.

Fyodor took a moment to process what had been asked of him before looking at his watch. It was large and appropriately expensive, a birthday gift from the blonde-haired boy on his knees in front of Fyodor. “Not enough. Make it quick.”

With a grimace of feigned frustration, Anatole grabbed hold of Dolokhov’s boxers and yanked them down towards his ankles, nearly ripping them in the process – Fedya never did take good care of his things. By the time he noticed they were off, Anatole was working at him. If it was going to be quick, Anatole would make sure of that.

Dolokhov gripped the edges of the stall as Anatole took more in his mouth. If he choked, Anatole would never show it; it was a point of pride for him at this point. He took pleasure in how his tongue ran over every inch of Dolokhov, never slowing down or falling into a pattern but always exploring, as if each time was the first. Dolokhov began to pant, and Anatole abandoned his original hand position on Dolokhov’s hips to grab each ass cheek, rake his claws across and hear that distinctive growl in the back of Dolokhov’s throat, reserved only for when he wanted to scream but couldn’t. They played this game enough for Anatole to know all of Dolokhov’s sounds and twitches.

Then they were interrupted by a buzzing from Dolokhov’s phone, in the pocket of the jeans around his ankles. Texts they could ignore, but the buzz was continuous, and Anatole reached down to see who it was. As he did so, Dolokhov thrust his hips forward in irritation at the slowdown, which shocked Anatole into accepting the call.

Dolokhov never put his phone on speaker, but Marya’s voice was powerful enough to do that on her own. You knew someone was on the phone with Marya because she never texted, only screamed so loud that the person on the street and other side of her wrath would hold the phone a foot away from their ear if they cared about their hearing. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? WE START IN TWO MINUTES. PIERRE ISN’T HERE, I NEED MY BOYS!”

One of Marya’s concerns about the coming school year was that the gay student union would have to drop the G from LGBT due to lack of representation. Anatole was graduating this coming year, and Dolokhov was a junior, so unless they could attract fresh meat, the male to female ratio would continue to slide until it was no longer a ratio but a distinctly female future.

“We got, uh, caught up,” Dolokhov said as he ruffled Anatole’s hair and tried to peel the blonde boy off of him, the latter pouting at the interruption. “Be there as soon as we can. Try to stall.”

“TRY TO GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, FEDYA.” With that, Marya hung up and Dolokhov looked down at Anatole, still on his knees.

“Guess you’ll be sleeping over,” Fyodor said, pulling up his boxers.

***

The shape of the room had changed since the last time Dolokhov and Anatole had been in it. The tables that had been in a line spanning the room were now in a curve around the front, and chairs filled with wide-eyed freshmen took up the majority of the room. Marya and Sonya split center, with their girlfriends flanking. There were only two more spots left at the tables, forcing the couple to split. Dolokhov took Helene’s side and Anatole resigned himself to sitting next to Mary.

“I told you I was going to keep this meeting brief, and I will. You’ll learn my verbosity next week.” Sonya and Helene laughed at Marya’s joke while Dolokhov faked a smile. “Before we break I want us to go around and say our names, grades, and pronouns.” She passed the microphone back down to Dolokhov.

“Fyodor Dolokhov, senior, he/him/his.”

“Helene Kuragin, senior, she/her/hers.”

“Marya Akhroshimova, senior, she/her/hers. Club president.”

“Sonya Rostova, junior, she/her/hers. Club vice president.”

“Mary Bolkonsky, junior, she/her/hers.”

“Anatole Kuragin, junior, he/him/his.”

“Usually Pierre Bezukhov is also here to join us,” Marya said without the microphone, “but he has several new responsibilities this year and may not be able to attend as frequently.” She never let herself crack when talking about the ghost who drove her crazy, who drank himself to death and would rather sit in his apartment and read than talk to any of his friends. The P name was never mentioned unless Marya herself said something. “Sonya and I have titles, but all of us at this table and Pierre have been in the club for our college career and can provide advice or be a new friend. Feel free to talk to us, eat some pizza, and enjoy the space.”

They broke, off to mingle with underclassmen. Marya had warned them ahead of time not to clump together among themselves and generate grade-based hostilities, but it happened anyway. Helene, Dolokhov, and Anatole all grouped up towards the center of the room and were surrounded on all sides by freshmen, mostly male but a few of other genders. Mary stuck to Sonya’s side so Sonya could talk to the female contingent and Mary did not have to mingle with strangers. Marya was avoided and took to sweeping through the crowds and seeking out individuals she wanted to talk to herself. Few were brave enough to take up the challenge; the large majority made as if they wanted more pizza or had a class to attend.

Natasha had spent most of the meeting terrified of Marya and watching Helene, but when Dolokhov and Anatole showed up she began to look between the three of them. Her eyes passed over most of the freshmen when she had entered the room, and she was concerned that she was doomed for life, but these three were making her reconsider. She wanted to get close to them but they were swarmed, so she turned to Sonya instead, if only to avoid Marya.

“Natasha!” Sonya’s cousin knew that she was on the GSU board, and yet had said nothing beforehand about being queer.

“Sonya, this place is great!”

“I’m glad you liked it!”

“Is this your girlfriend?” As opposed to Sonya, who was well known by family and school alike, Mary had been more of an enigma, her name and face not even known to the family for Mary’s fear that she would be found out through social media. Here Mary nodded and said nothing more, allowing Natasha’s effervescence to take over.

From the opposite side of the room, the trio’s barrage was coming down, and they inspected the girl who remained.

“Mais charmante,” Anatole said under his breath.

“It’s charman-te,” Helene attempted to correct.

“Didn’t you drop French 101?”

Helene shrugged. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Would you go after a freshman?” Dolokhov asked.

“Doesn’t matter if I would, I won’t. I made enough vows that Marya would slaughter me if she knew I was traipsing with someone else, and look at the mouth on that one. The whole school would know by the next day.”

“You know what they say about big mouths…” Anatole reached over to tickle the back of Dolokhov’s neck.

“I don’t.”

“I can show you later.”

“Heard Marya caught you at an inopportune time today,” Helene interjected, and both men winced. “She got off the phone and told me to ‘tell my brother to stop blowing his boyfriend and drag their asses over here right now.’” Needless to say, I thought you were already moving over at top speed.”

“Like you can talk. Why do you never put your hands on the table like everyone else?”

“Oh no, I’m not disappointed or disgusted. I’m proud you can keep that spark alive.” Helene’s gaze transferred first to Natasha and then to Marya, who was again alone and cleaning up the pizza boxes that had been effectively demolished by youths who would never return. “As for me, I think I’m going to rub some rocks together and see where that takes me. Watch out for that one, though. She’s first-rate, my dears, but not for you.”

As Helene walked away, Dolokhov and Anatole looked at each other, and Anatole was the first to speak. “Do you think she said that because we shouldn’t make a move or because she wanted her for herself?”

“I don’t know. Want to think about it somewhere else?”

“I think better at your place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story, consider buying me a coffee (or hot chocolate, because I drink that more frequently): https://ko-fi.com/A1464EIS


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